


Pretty As A Picture

by sevendeadlyfun



Category: Angel: the Series (Comic)
Genre: Canon - Comics, Community: kink_bingo, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-29
Updated: 2010-08-29
Packaged: 2017-10-11 07:48:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/110088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sevendeadlyfun/pseuds/sevendeadlyfun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>Angel winces but doesn't struggle. He wants to struggle, but fighting against the dead is pointless. He knows. He's tried.</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	Pretty As A Picture

  
  
  
  
  


**Entry tags:**

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[angel-centric](http://sevendeadlyfun.livejournal.com/tag/angel-centric), [angel/lindsey](http://sevendeadlyfun.livejournal.com/tag/angel/lindsey), [kink bingo](http://sevendeadlyfun.livejournal.com/tag/kink%20bingo)  
  
  
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Pairing: Angel/Lindsey

Rating: NC-17

Summary: _Angel winces but doesn't struggle. He wants to struggle, but fighting against the dead is pointless. He knows. He's tried._

A/N: Takes place in comics canon but the only thing that might confuse you is ***SPOILER*** Angel has Shanshued and is human***SPOILER***. Written for [](http://community.livejournal.com/kink_bingo/profile)[**kink_bingo**](http://community.livejournal.com/kink_bingo/) 's prompt **"obedience"**.

There's a presence behind him. It's not menacing or malevolent, but it is palpable. If Spike were dead, he'd swear he was being haunted again. But Spike isn't any more dead than usual and silent stalking isn't Spike's style. Spike drowns his victims in a spate of withering words, or tears them limb from limb. Spike is violent and loud, impulsive and rude. This is none of those things.

"Look, I'm tired," he says quietly. "This isn't exactly Hell but it's hellish. So could we get to the big fight scene and skip all the foreplay? I promise, I won't think any less of you."

"Angel, are you promising to respect me in the morning? I'm touched, really. But it's not your respect I'm after." The sneer oozes over the words, an oily scum that clings to Angel and leaves him longing for a shower.

He stares at the hole in the ceiling, hoping to find some meaning in the building's wreckage. He wonders if he'll ever be able to get rid of his past. He thought the Shanshu was about a fresh start, but he keeps tripping over his dead.

"Lindsey," he finally replies. "Which one are you? Spike has to be my Ghost of Evil Past, and Wes is earning his Ghost of Evil Present title so I'm guessing you're the Ghost of Evil Future. Come to school me on how to lie, cheat, steal, and betray? Thanks, but I took the correspondence course."

"Shut up," Lindsey tells him and the words are pleasant. Angel doesn't need to turn around to see the smile. He's seen it often enough, the gloating grin that marks Lindsey as a poor winner. "I've been waiting for this. Taken on every ugly, demeaning job the Senior Partners would send me on to earn my chance at you."

"Jesus," Angel says and he rolls his eyes. "You're fucking dead, Lindsey. Not that I care but don't you think your pitiful revenge plots should stop once you die?"

Fingers, very substantial and almost warm fingers, dig into the back of his neck. Angel winces but doesn't struggle. He wants to struggle, but fighting against the dead is pointless. He knows. He's tried.

"You're going to be a very good boy, " Lindsey whispers. "Here, now, I'm holding the winning hand. So be a good dog and show your belly."

He sizes up his position, but he can admit to himself that Lindsey has him cornered. The advantage of death is that you have enough time to wait and there's no such thing as a fatal wound. Reluctantly, Angel tips his head to the side, allowing Lindsey access to the long line of his neck.

He shudders at the feel of Lindsey's lips pressing a soft, mockingly chaste kiss against his racing pulse. He hasn't had anyone this near his throat, hasn't dared. Lindsey's hand slides up from his hip, grazing his nipples. He bites his lip against the rush of sensation.

"This is where she took you," Lindsey muses, running a finger over the thick tissue scarring the base of his throat. "I wanted to wear her scar, you know? Feel her take me."

"You wanted her to keep you," Angel corrects him quietly. "The way she kept me."

Lindsey leans in, teeth resting against the raised flesh. He doesn't bite, just runs his tongue over the bumps and dips of the scar. The blood rushes into Angel's cock, pushing against the front of his trousers.

"Tell me," Lindsey instructs him. "Tell me everything you did with her."

"She…" His voice breaks when Lindsey's hand frees his cock. "She loved to be taken. Forced. All that power inside her and she wanted to be owned. It made her feel powerful. She was powerful."

The cool air hits the heat of his skin, and Angel shivers. Lindsey grabs his cock, holding it firmly by the base. Another gentle kiss brushes over his pulse, a wordless imperative that forces him to find his voice.

"It was amazing," Angel continues, pushing the words out over the twisting in his gut. "Watching her. Even when I knew she was acting, playing the part for me, it was beautiful. Her body, her vicious mind…we were damned together."

Lindsey twists his wrist, pulling his hand along the thick vein in Angel's cock. The friction on his sensitized skin drags a reluctant moan from his throat and he pumps his hips. Lindsey hisses once, a sharp inhale that tells Angel the other man isn't as cool as he's playing.

"Darla was a whore," Angel grinds out, fucking forwards into Lindsey's strong grip. "She lived a whore and died a whore. But she walked with more grace than any woman I've known and every time we kissed, she showed me worlds I'd never dreamt of. She was beauty to me, damned and forsaken."

He yells as Lindsey pinches the head of his cock. He'd been within seconds of coming, his orgasm even now rumbling in his aching prick and full balls. He wishes he could touch himself, run a single finger down his sensitive length. He knows he can't. There's no way to fight against the dead. He's tried.

"She was beautiful," Lindsey tells him, giving him a final soft kiss on his pulse. "You're beautiful. And I would have willingly spent eternity by your sides."

Angel nods because he knows this. What Lindsey wanted was to belong. To Darla. To him. He wanted to be kept and cherished. Instead, he'd been cast aside. Just as damned as the rest of them but without the saving grace of having been wanted.

"Come," Lindsey tells him, stepping back.  
Angel closes his eyes as he comes, semen splattering over his fingers and the debris-strewn floor. Behind him, he hears Lindsey clapping once, twice. Underneath the glamour, he can feel the heat staining his cheeks.

Head bowed, he tucks his softening cock back into his trousers. Turning, he stares at Lindsey. But it isn't Lindsey. It's Lindsey's shade, compelled to serve the ends of the Senior Partners for eternity.

Lindsey seems to know what he's thinking. He laughs, a short bark accompanied by a bitter twist of his lips. Angel stares at him.

"Obedience," Lindsey says wryly. "We all serve, Angel. One master or another, we all serve."

Angel can only nod and watch as Lindsey walks away. He watches until Lindsey's disappeared into the walls, returning to the shadow life that Wolfram&amp;Hart forced on him. He wants to disagree, to tell Lindsey that he's wrong. But you can't fight against the dead. Angel knows. He's tried.  


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**Pretty As A Picture**   
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End file.
